


Te Choruk'la'kajir Aka (The Stone Table Mission)

by marmota_b



Series: Choruk'la Kajir [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Chronicles of Narnia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Appropriate Use of the Force, Bookish Boba Fett, Dubious Science, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-sensitive Kir Kanos, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Learning Disabilities, Mandalore, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Narnia Fic Exchange 2020, Narnian knighthood, New Jedi Order, The Light Side of the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmota_b/pseuds/marmota_b
Summary: Neither the tales nor the histories manage to tell the true story.The story of what comes after the knighting.The story of striving to be better.With some help from a young Force-sensitive Mole and a mandokarla Mand'alor, and memories of Light, Boba Fett and Kir Kanos (who has dropped that name) do manage to be better.(A happier AU for Star Wars. A bit more explanation is provided in the initial Author's Note...)
Relationships: Boba Fett & Kir Kanos, Boba Fett & Original Female Character(s), Kir Kanos & Original Female Character, Kir Kanos & Tyria Sarkin
Series: Choruk'la Kajir [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908958
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8
Collections: Narnia Fic Exchange 2020





	Te Choruk'la'kajir Aka (The Stone Table Mission)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/gifts).



> So, a rather embarrassed admission, this is not exactly the story I wanted to give Syrena.  
> You see, _that_ story defeated me, scope-wise. It just had too many plot threads and characters and details to take care of and keep track of. It kept outbranching. It was 20k+ words and counting. I just could not finish it in time to the standards I absolutely knew both the story and especially Syrena herself deserved.  
> This story is, instead, comprised of some of the cut-off branches, all of them in the "future" of the resulting AU; it's probably unfortunately not an entirely coherent whole, more of a running with a theme? It is, as a result, rather heavily skewed towards the Star Wars side of the crossover, with the Narnian characters being all OCs. A lot of the Star Wars stuff was lifted from Wookieepedia...
> 
> So if some of the characters in this seem out of character, that's why. There's a more heavily Narnian story of how they got there that is still waiting to be told.
> 
> Consider this story a placeholder and a promise that the original story _will_ come (unfortunately as less of a surprise than it had been carefully plotted for), and of course be gifted to Syrena whose prompts were almost entirely responsible for this whole AU, one day hopefully not too far off in the future. :-)
> 
> Slight warning for slight language and some bad things happening that should not be worse than many things happening in the Star Wars universe.  
> Also, gratuitous use of Mando'a because Syrena listed languages and things lost in translation among her likes. ;-)  
> (And apologies for Fenn Shysa's accent; I suspect it's anyone's guess if anyone can ever get it "right".)

**Te Choruk’la’kajir Aka (The Stone Table Mission)**

There are many stories told in Narnia about heroes of yore, especially about the Golden Age.

Stories of daring quests and fortunes found, and fair maidens. Those are the popular ones, those told largely for entertainment at banquets and balls, or devoured from books by young squires. Some of them – possibly even most of them – may not be true.

And then there are the stories with weight; stories of heroes of a different calibre: stories of those trying to be better. Told in the quiet of the night, at fireplaces in winter, at campfires under starry skies, or out in the sun in the meadows of early spring when the world is new and everything is sprouting up and you are bursting with yearning. Those are far more often told by Beasts than the other ones (favoured by human courtiers); and if you can chance upon a Badger and convince them to tell you such a story, you can be certain it will be a true one – if perhaps some details get blurred with time and retelling. They are stories that aim not only for entertainment and thrills, but also for edification.

One such story tells of King Edmund the Redeemed and Just, and the founding of the Noble Order of the Table; another is about Lord Peridan and a dragon, and how said knight of said Order in his wisdom saw through seeming and broke a curse.

And another speaks of two knights come from another world who did not strive for glorious deeds of bravery but, in selflessly stepping up to help the helpless, proved themselves braver than most.

Indeed, most of this second type of stories are stories of the Knights of the Table.

But even then – even then, King Edmund would eventually argue to Trufflehunter the Badger, they were not being told properly. They were not the _real_ stories of the knights of the Noble Order of the Table, for they shared a significant shortcoming with the stories of the first type:

They glossed over the “boring” part that came after.

* * *

It had been a quiet day. Myrtledove was ensconced in a cosy niche in the burrows with a book – this one a rather rare Calormene one that had no gods and no boring proverbs in it (so far) and instead aimed to educate by a story, just like a Narnian one – and had quite happily forgotten about her surroundings.

Until her brother Flaxenband dashed inside the burrow with the news of a spaceship.

“It’s the one that looks like a baby elephant’s head! They’re back!”

As if to confirm his proclamation, the ground reverberated under the unmistakable, rare sound of spaceship engines, followed by the tremour of something heavy settling down on the surface. It was not as forceful as it could have been; they must have made use of the rocky flat next to the burrows, exactly as Myrtledove’s family had intended when they had moved to this place a year or so ago.

A year or two ago, Myrtledove would have probably run outside as fast as her legs could carry her, and would have flung the book aside somewhere, heedlessly. But it was a library book, and she had been working on containing her reckless impulses; so instead, she put a bookmark in it and set it aside carefully.

And then she ran outside as fast as her legs could carry her.

Sure enough, as she emerged aboveground, she could see _Slave I_ was parked, gleaming in the slowly setting afternoon sun, on the flat bare ground of exposed rock next to the meadow that their Mole-burrows criss-crossed underneath. Myrtledove noted with satisfaction how neatly the ship was settled there. Myrtle would not have expected any less from her pilot, though.

Down the ramp scuttled the familiar domed figure of Deefore. In his footsteps walked a tall Son of Adam, who had to be Killian, a loose, probably hooded robe hanging around his shoulders. Myrtle was fairly sure he was Killian, although he now felt slightly different – brighter than she had ever seen him in all his years in Narnia (Had it really been just less than three years he had spent here? It had seemed a lifetime to the younger her.), with a sort of enduring Light inside.

That, Myrtledove thought, must be what training as a Jedi had done for him.

And there, there it was: that familiar crooked smile where an old scar pulled at his mouth.

She shot forwards.

“Kil! Deefore! You came! You came back! Oh, you came back!”

And she flung herself at Killian’s leg, exactly like she used to, and he bent down to caress her head, exactly like he used to. There was some laughing, and crying, and Deefore’s excited warbles, and Myrtle was not quite sure afterwards what had really been said, but it did not matter.

Then a soft scuffing noise up on the ship’s ramp caught her attention.

Boba was standing in the entrance, in full armour, leaning slightly at the wall and hanging back as if unsure whether he would be welcome and whether she still remembered him.

Silly old thing. He was quite unforgettable.

“Uncle Boba! You came too!” she laughed in delight, even though she had known that, of course she had known that from the moment Flaxie had described his ship.

“Well, it’s his ship,” Killian said. “He did bring us.”

“I was passing by,” Boba shrugged.

“Four sectors away and no direct route. Stop pretending, you came for Myrtle just like me.”

“Well, I did promise you’d see me again,” Boba said, and finally removed his helmet.

Myrtle ran to him, and he finally moved forwards. They met halfway, her running, him walking since his strides were so much longer.

“ _Su’cuy, ad’ika_ ,[1]” he smiled.

Touching foreheads between a Mole and a Son of Adam was a rather tall order for both of them, but with Boba crouching and Myrtledove climbing on his knee, a solution they had figured out last time, they managed.

It always warmed her heart, the knowledge that Boba, who had protected her whole family two years ago, had accepted the way she had included him in it, and included her right back in his own heritage. It had been a relatively short encounter of a couple of days, but a fire-forged bond – and blessed by Aslan on top of that, she understood. There had followed a couple letters from both him and Killian, sent with other Jedi who had come to visit in order to check that no further Dark being was having designs on Narnia, or in order to see the world overflowing with the Force for themselves, whatever the case may have been. (Myrtle had especially liked Tionne, a gentle woman with a love for history and music – she had fit right in in Narnia, and Myrtle was looking forward to seeing her again.) Now her big Uncle was back in person, with the prospect that she would be seeing a lot more of him and his world in the future.

“What were you doing four sectors away?” she asked, slyly.

“Getting some things for the Mand’alor.”

“Oh.”

There was weight behind those words, she thought, but did not have time to reflect on it further.

From behind them came the voice of Flaxie:

“Your father was Mand’alor, wasn’t he? Why aren’t you?”

He sounded half curious, half accusatory, in the manner of a child who suspects someone close to them had been slighted. Myrtledove used to be the smallest of the family. But in the two years since the adventure that had uncovered Killian’s and her abilities and brought Boba into her family, Myrtle had outgrown her litter-brother in responsibility and awareness. Flaxie was still often behaving like a petulant and confused child.

“Flaxenband! Watch your manners!” Mother scolded in the way of all mothers, from where she had been exchanging greetings with Kil and Deefore. “Say hello first!”

“ _Su’cuy_ , Lindendell, _ner vod_ ,” [2] Boba said with a serious face but with a glint in his eye, and some tension broke and Mother laughed and hopped on his knee to touch foreheads like Myrtledove had done before.

Boba was, fortunately, not overly concerned with manners, although he would also behave with all the dignity of the knight he now was. Myrtle knew that part was what had excited Flaxenband the most – that the man whose knighting he had witnessed two years ago was _his Uncle_. So of course having heard some of the story of Boba’s life, which, Myrtle suspected, he had rather heavily filtered for himself through a Narnian perception, Flaxie would have concerned himself with Boba’s title – or lack thereof.

“Because, _ad’ika_ , it’s not really a hereditary post. You have to be elected, or accepted, and there’s no reason why I should be elected, and no reason why I should try to claim the title.”

“Why not?”

“I was still young when Fenn Shysa became Mand’alor, and he’s the best we could wish for.”

There was more to it, Myrtle thought; something Boba had said at the knighting, about being a Mandalorian and not a good one tugged at her mind. But of course Boba would not want to talk about it with a small child, and Flaxie was behaving like one.

“So you came for Myrtle,” Mother said, a heaviness once again settling on her.

“Mum, we agreed!” Myrtle objected, suddenly afraid that Mother would change her mind about letting her go train with Killian. She wanted it badly. She wanted to see the universe, and learn to do everything she possibly could, so that she could learn how to protect people herself. They had agreed, and Killian and all the Jedi had promised to teach her; and _Aslan_ had specifically asked Killian to teach her, she understood. There was no way she would back out of that!

“I cannot complain, because we did agree on this,” Mother shrugged, “and I know you’ll have family out there.” She glanced at Boba with a steely eye saying _you’d better take good care of her for me, or else_. Myrtle used to love and admire and look up to that ferocity her mother was capable of putting on; she still loved it, but now she realised it would, of course, do exactly _nothing_ against Boba Fett if it came to it. But it would not come to it, because Boba was a man of his word.

“But it’s still quite sudden,” Mother continued. “Why, Thistledown and the older children are not even here right now; Lord Peridan needed help in the gardens.”

“We’re in no hurry,” Killian assured her. “We can stay as long as Myrtle needs to prepare and say all her goodbyes. Not to mention I’d love to meet with a couple people myself now that I'm back!”

“Are you really still up to your old tricks?” Flaxie asked excitedly. “Smuggling people north like Lord Peridan?”

Deefore beeped out a rapid stream of what may have been curses.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you’re in the thick of it and you love it,” Boba said to the droid.

“We all are,” Killian said. “Whenever time allows. And it’s funny you should say _north_ because it’s exactly the code we’re using,” he grinned at Flaxie.

“But if Boba is on duty right now--?” Mother turned to the older man.

“Those things I have in cargo had been lost for decades; a week here or there will make no difference," Boba replied. "I was hoping to see Hwin again if possible, too. And Shysa knows I was coming here. Come on, Lindendell,” he smiled, “he could hardly begrudge me visiting with _aliit_.”

He still sounded like he barely believed the _family_ part himself. Mother seemed to be suffering from a similar affliction. Myrtle shook her head at them.

“I want to see your ship properly first!” she said, to redirect the conversation. “Where will I be staying on it? And how long will the journey take?”

She had travelled by the ship before, but that had been only a very short hop inside Narnia – and that alone, the fact it had been so short, made her dizzy with imagination when...

“About two weeks, if all goes well,” Killian said.

... the universe was _huge_ and there was so much to see and learn.

“A bit longer, I expect,” Boba added. “I’ll be dropping the cargo off first; Manda’yaim [3] is on the way to Yavin 4. More or less. Though we might make a detour to the D’Astan sector, too, and maybe also somewhere before that this side of the Core. You will probably need to stretch your legs; the Firespray isn’t exactly built for comfort, although with your size that should be less of a problem for you than it is for the two – the three of us.”

The last correction with a cautious apologetic glance at Deefore.

“Endor,” Killian suggested. “I think you’ll like the Forest Moon, Myrtle. It’s where Kettch is from.”

Boba rolled his eyes.

“Kettch is a _toy_ ,” Myrtle told Kil, fighting not to roll her eyes herself, unsure if she should be amused or insulted.

“Don’t tell that to Wes,” Kil said with a small, amused smile, and Myrtle giggled, remembering Wes and his antics and his beloved stuffed toy well. Wes, too, had been often acting like a child, but in a different manner from Flaxie - Wes was a fighter and protector just like the rest of them, and seemed to know exactly when to start acting like an adult, unlike Flaxie who was still learning.

“Well, shall we then?” Boba said, indicating the ship. And then, with a somewhat delayed realisation, he told Flaxie: “Don’t touch anything. It might be dangerous.”

The ship was, indeed, rather small for humans, with _every_ part of it clearly serving a utilitarian function; the Moles could hardly understand so much of it, and Mother did not seem entirely comfortable around so much advanced technology. But Myrtle found it exciting; she wanted to know how things worked, how amazingly the universe was created so that things worked in so many unexpected ways if combined just so. It was, she’d been told, a very dwarfish trait in her. She did not mind being a dwarfish Mole.

Boba showed them, first, the kitchenette. Everything in it was human-sized, but Boba and Deefore had put together a hooking ladder for Myrtle that she could use to climb to the shelves, which had been fitted with holes for the ladder to hook into. The lowest shelf in the cool food conservator (food conservator!) could be set aside for Myrtle’s food. There was a tiny table and two seats that folded into the wall (”no eating in the cockpit!”), of course human-sized so that was a bit of a problem, but really, Myrtle was a Beast, she could do without such luxuries when necessary.

Myrtle knew the ship had been Jango Fett’s before Boba had inherited it, and that it had been named in memory of Boba’s father’s time as a slave, as a reminder that he and his son were _free_ (no wonder Boba was now apparently involved in Kil and Deefore’s activities). She eyed the seating arrangement, imagining Boba as a child sitting there with his father over dinner; she realised she could not begin to imagine what his father could have looked like, so she pictured him looking just like Boba. Little Boba would be reading a book and asking lots of questions of his father... or his father would be telling him stories about the Mandalorians... She smiled to herself at the thought that there would, once again, now be a family sitting down to dinner there. (There was, she noted with amusement, also Deefore’s charger lying there on the floor under the table.)

Boba and Kil slept in a small bunkroom next to the kitchenette, their beds stacked on top of each other; with the bed together with storage cabinets, there was barely enough space for the two tall humans to stand next to the bed, and barely enough room in the bunks for them to fit in comfortably. When Mother commented on it, Boba remarked his father had been a bit shorter than he was now (“but stronger”, he added, with absolute conviction). But despite the way the room was very clearly built for the highest degree of utility, it also felt quite cosy – that was definitely thanks to the two patchwork quilts that must have been Kil’s doing. (Myrtle recognised the repeating block on the top quilt as Queen Helen’s Ring, Kil’s favourite pattern, and the bottom quilt had alternating blocks of designs she was not familiar with but some of which, when she looked closely, echoed some of the markings on Boba’s armour.)

Then there was a tiny “refresher” room, which was probably the most daunting prospect for life on the human-sized ship, but they figured it out eventually.

Then they were shown the small chamber in the wall of the cargo hold that would be Myrtle’s room for the journey – “and whenever she needs it” – and Mother was quite satisfied when she tested out the mattress Boba had got for Myrtle, and the safe boxes Myrtle could put her things in, and the small, encased, safe lamp she could read under. There was a “touchpad” with a numerical code guarding the sliding entrance so that Myrtle could have her privacy, and another one rather obviously recently wired in from the inside – the room had, originally, of course been another cargo compartment that no one had needed to open from the inside before.

It was not the only thing in the cargo hold.

“What are those?” Flaxenband asked in awe at the boxes and crates filled with... things. Datapads and data chips, Myrtle remembered belatedly.

“Books,” Boba replied.

“Oh, are you one of Princess Aravis’s librarians?” he exclaimed.

“No, these are...”

“For the Mand’alor,” Myrtle grinned. “So what _are_ they?”

“Can I borrow some?” Flaxie wheedled.

Boba shrugged.

“Legends. Poetry. Histories. Some are very old. And no, I’m afraid not. It’s all in Mando’a; even if I wasn’t under obligation to bring it all safely to Manda’yaim, you could not read it.”

“Can you _teach_ me?” Flaxenband would not be deterred.

Boba ran a hand through his hair, now greying at the temples – there had been hints of it two years ago, but now it really was getting grey, just like Mother’s nose. He normally wore it clipped short, but now, possibly through his having been travelling for quite some time, it was growing out a little, and getting curly. Myrtle, a Mole with the smooth coat of a Mole, found it fascinating, the variety in human hair texture. Kil’s hair was smooth, like Lord Peridan’s; The Queens’ hair was wavy, somewhere between the two.

“You’re _aliit_. I _should_ teach you the language,” Boba said, slowly, considering.

“What’s ‘aliit’?” Flaxie asked, predictably.

“Family,” Myrtle told him.

“Oh! Because you’re our Uncle Boba!”

“Yes. _Ba’vodu._ ” Boba was not one to let any opportunity pass. Flaxie was bright-eyed; being slower on the uptake (though he was far quicker to _notice_ things than Myrtle was, with very keen eyes for a Mole), many people often stopped trying to explain things to him, despite his unquenchable desire to learn. So Boba immediately jumping at the opportunity to teach him was making Flaxie as happy as can be.

“So that... that makes Mum your...?”

“ _Vod_. Sibling.” [4]

Flaxie was clearly giving it some deep thought.

“How come you’re a Son of Adam, then?” he blurted out, possibly for the first time in his life really realising his family was a bit unusual.

Kil cackled.

“ _How_ come you’re a Son of Adam, Boba, when you’re the son of Jango Fett?” he asked.

“That’s a headache of a question you can shove off on Luke and Tionne,” Boba retorted and turned back to Flaxie. “ _Aliit_ _ori’shya_ _tal’din_. Family is more than lineage. It’s a Mandalorian saying, and _Aslan_ told me that, and it’s _right_.”

That was enough to satisfy Flaxenband’s curiosity. Things being the way they were because Aslan had made them so was, in his estimation, the most satisfying answer he was ever likely to get.

Myrtle would not be satisfied. Myrtle would poke further. _Why_ had Aslan made it so? Except, of course, that was what the last part of Boba’s explanation was for: yes, it _was_ right. Odd, maybe; but somehow they needed Boba and Boba needed them.

She thought back to the kitchenette, and thought of how long Boba had been eating his dinners there alone; and now he had friends and family in his father’s ship. And she sent silent thanks to Aslan for having brought them all together.

* * *

Killian could not stop pacing through the waiting room.

“Kil, calm down,” Myrtledove said.

Killian startled and looked back at her; she was sitting calmly on one of the too-large for her plastoid chairs, the mealbox open next to her.

It was definitely a mixed-up state of affairs if the master was anxious and the apprentice reassuring. Especially when the student was family and the teacher just a friend.

Deefore beeped at him that his agitation was making the _other_ patients nervous. The droid was wedged next to Myrtle inside the gap between the interconnected units of chairs; on the other side of him sat a family of seven, and they were all indeed eyeing Kil warily.

“I know you love him, but it will be _fine_ ,” Myrtledove said, sounding oddly grown-up.

Love –

Well, Aslan had asked him to offer love to Boba Fett, had He not? It hardly mattered that this was not the sort of love people most often applied that word to; friendship, brotherhood, was, in the end, no less powerful a love.

It was still baffling sometimes nonetheless, that deep bond that had so quickly formed between him and Boba, the strength of it having filled almost all the obscure nooks of the empty space that the deaths of Kil’s fellow Guardsmen had left behind. The Empire’s gruelling training had never gone to the length of fully explaining to them the very same bond of their comradeship it had so thoroughly exploited. It was only now, first with Aslan’s and then Luke’s and Corran’s, and recently also Fenn Shysa’s guidance, that Kil understood how much a man of his experiences _needed_ that sort of bond. Intellectually, he understood that his fellow Knight of the Noble Order of the Table had slotted into the empty space easily the moment they were knighted together; but the _feeling_ of the bond was sometimes harder to grapple with.

And right now, it was drowning in agony, as his _vod_ ’s body violently reacted to something it had never really needed to fight in the first place. Behind the door the doctors had closed in their faces, Boba was still struggling to _breathe_ , and that in its turn made it difficult for Killian to calm down.

Force _osik_ , Boba would say; Boba was not Force sensitive, and despite his newly formed friendships with a number of Jedi he still carried with him his father’s upbringing. But that changed nothing about the fact the bond existed in the Force and _Killian felt his pain_.

Closed door. It was that closed door that was making things difficult. Myrtledove still had a child’s belief that the professional adults knew what they were doing; Killian had encountered too many closed doors behind which things had not gone as advertised. And the Arkanians’ arrogance (they were _offworlders_ , so the hospital they could be admitted to here was basically the lowest quality possible on a world that prided itself in its science, and that, just to begin with, translated to very cheap amenities and both a _smugness_ and something bordering on _negligence_ from the staff), not to mention the Arkanians’ reputation for experiments on other species (after all, _looking into_ _that was why the four of them were on the planet in the first place_ ), rubbed him the wrong way. Neither he nor Myrtledove were Boba’s next of kin in this planet’s estimation, never mind Mandalorian views on family and Boba’s very real dedication to Myrtle as his niece. And Boba was a _clone_ , something the Arkanians must have picked up on almost immediately. They had closed the door in their face, and Aslan only knew what exactly they were doing to Boba behind it.

It did not help his state of mind that it was all the fault of a meal Kil had bought for Boba. Just a running joke gone horribly wrong. They had a mock-tradition with insectoid meals being used for symbolic payment, borne out of Lindendell’s (in)famous worm pie and Boba's continuing formal status as a bounty hunter and mercenary. But this time, it had turned out there was an Arkanian ant many humans from Concord Dawn were apparently allergic to. Judging by Boba’s reaction, severely.

The staff had, at least, finally accepted Fenn Shysa’s name as the next best thing to next of kin. Kil also recalled Boba talking about a Connor something or other, who as the son of a clone whom Jango Fett had supported financially and whom Boba had helped out a couple of times was probably the closest thing to biological family Boba had who may still have wanted anything to do with him. But Kil could not even remember the man’s full name, let alone have any way of contacting him. Not to mention Connor would probably not appreciate such an intrusion on his life anyway... So Fenn Shysa it was.

“You’re not helping in this state, you know,” Myrtle said. “Didn’t Luke say something about bonds being... mutual? So if you’re fretting... doesn’t he also feel it? That can’t be helping.”

Kil exhaled very deliberately.

“He’s not Force sensitive but... you’re right. I should be trying to help from my end.”

Except that he had never done something like this, so how was he supposed to go about it?

He did not realise he had said it out lout, until Myrtle answered, thoughtfully:

“Did not Corran teach you about projecting mental images? Maybe you could try something like that. Something like... I don’t know. Queen Lucy’s cordial?”

Kil considered it.

“That... that would not work, I don’t think. – I cannot imagine how that particular mental image would work as, you know, a helpful mental image; so it would not work,” he amended.

“So what does he need right now that you could somehow make work?”

It was definitely a mixed-up state of affairs if Myrtle was suggesting ways to use the Force to her teacher.

But then, Corran had said they were all learning. And Kil had had a total of two years of study before taking on Myrtle, while in the Old Republic, Jedi had been learning from early childhood and even apprenticeships had lasted much longer than two years; it only stood to reason there would be many things he still did not know.

The strict form of the pre-Empire Jedi Order was not, he knew, the only possible model; it had not always been the case, and the New Jedi Order was, once again, not relying on it. But that also simply meant he should be less concerned if Myrtle turned out to have better instincts than him on something, since his formal standing as a teacher was by no means absolute. He had learned much in his time in Narnia about helping others; was it any surprise that a free-born and free-raised Narnian had better instincts on that than someone who had had his more humane impulses all but beaten out of him by the Empire?

“Lion gracious, _I don’t know_.”

But that – that exclamation – suddenly reminded him _who_ had helped Boba last time.

Closing his eyes, he focused on the memory of Aslan; His understanding, His help, His calming presence. Slipping into the memory of Light, enveloping himself in the Light and trying to do the same for Boba, to send all in his power and beyond Boba’s way. He lost track of time, aware only of the way the tumultuous feeling of the Bond quieted down, Boba’s breathing growing stronger and more regular...

He forgot he was standing in the middle of a hospital waiting room, surrounded by patients from the low levels of Arkania. In his mind, he was in a sunny clearing on top of a hill surrounded by forests, where there was a large stone table cracked in half, the enduring reminder of Aslan’s love and sacrifice. The place where he and Boba had struck their friendship, the place where their past had been washed clean, where Aslan’s breath had given Boba a new chance on full healthy life against genetic undermining by Kaminoans...

And from the other side of the Bond, he could feel growing awareness, and growing awe at the memory and the mental images, and at the strength of the Bond itself.

And finally, finally he could feel that Boba could be left to his own devices and fight on his own power, and opened his eyes again.

Most of the lights in the waiting room and corridors were gone. Most of the patients were gone, too, except for a couple of Arkanian offshoots who had fallen asleep in each other’s embrace, apparently waiting on news of a child. Myrtle was still sitting in the chair, watching him, but now she was munching on the offending insectoid meal.

“What did you do?” she asked, fascinated. “You’ve been standing there still for _ages_.”

“I was thinking of Aslan.”

It was definitely not the only thing he had done, but he could hardly understand what it was he had done himself, let alone put it into words for Myrtle’s benefit right now.

“That must have helped,” she remarked matter-of-factly.

“It did,” he agreed. “What’s the time?” He suddenly realised that he was exhausted, and collapsed onto the chair next to his apprentice.

“Around four in the morning, I think.” She yawned.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” she replied, looking at him like he was stupid. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Now who’s fretting,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn of his own.

“So apparently whatever you did, it wasn’t meditation,” she observed. “You look tired.”

“I feel exhausted,” he admitted. “No, it wasn’t meditation. Some sort of trance I guess, based on your reaction...”

“It did look like it.”

“... but it definitely wasn’t a rest.”

They sat in quiet. Myrtle finished off the meal. She offered it to him as well, but he could not bring himself to touch it, although he was also definitely starved.

Maybe half an hour later, there were sounds of a commotion from the direction of the entrance. Someone was trying to walk in, and someone else was trying to stop them.

“Don’t ye try that on me; I got a message that one of my men had been admitted here and I’m here to see ‘im, and there’s no bloody thing ye can do about that since this is a first visit. Don’t ye think I did’nae check your rules right away!”

And into their waiting room strode a familiar figure in green-painted Mandalorian armour eerily similar to Boba’s, combined with a face that was entirely different: narrower, with fair skin, greying blond hair, blue eyes.

The Mand’alor’s accent always got thicker when he was agitated.

“Fenn! You came?!”

That was... something else, and Killian was not sure he could wrap his mind around Shysa's more-than-exemplary leadership in his current state.

He had come to respect Fenn Shysa a lot. The man had all the good Narnian qualities of a reluctant, humble, responsible and capable leader you could wish for; he just, by some unlucky chance of creation, happened not to be Narnian...

“Don’t ye be daft, Kenix; I can’t let one of my best _ori’ramikade_[5] lose to a stupid ant,” the Mand’alor said fiercely.

And that was just like Fenn, to let Boba’s past be the past and refer to him like that regardless of the fact Boba had never fought with him against the Empire. As far as Shysa was concerned, _cin vhetin_[6] was _cin vhetin_ , whether you were adopted into the Mandalorian culture, or originally born into it.

“Though I imagine, given the situation, by now the worst is past. But I was passin’ by anyway.”

“Four sectors away and no direct route?” Myrtle giggled, somewhat hysterically, since the lost hours of sleep were doing neither her nor Killian any favours.

“That would’a taken longer,” Shysa replied, voice softer as he turned to her, and then it solidified back into sharp crystal: “Wait, are they still keepin’ 'im?”

“I think it’s time we barged in,” Killian said. “I suspect... I suspect they’re trying to gain something else out of the situation. Because, you know, _Boba Fett_. But they can’t exactly protest against you barging in since they _did_ contact you.”

“Is that so,” Fenn said in a dangerous tone of voice. “Well, I dare say I’m not completely oblivious when it comes to medicine, so I think I can _argue_ my way around them before it comes to blows; and per’aps next time they’ll think twice about trying something like that on a Mando’ad.” [7]

 _Mandalorians don’t make threats, they make promises_ , Killian remembered the saying. If Fenn Shysa said _before it comes to blows_ , what he meant was _they’d better listen or it_ will _come to blows_.

It didn’t, although it did come to a shattered vial of biological material, a data-chip neatly broken in half, an electrical charge from a pissed-off astromech droid, and a bite from an incensed sleep-deprived Mole, in the process of checking Boba out. Shysa had some choice words on the subject of patient consent. Boba, upon realising what had happened when he had been out for the count, had told the doctor, in a coldly polite tone of voice that hid daggers – and the doctor knew it – that he could understand them doing it when he was not aware because he would certainly not, and _did not_ , give his consent when in full command of his senses.

Killian could not help but add that he was welcome to borrow some of _his_ senses any time he needed them.

The glance and smirk they exchanged was somehow worth all the trouble, after all.

* * *

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Tyria said into the eery silence they were walking through.

“Now you’ve jinxed it,” Shysa replied.

“It already was jinxed,” Killian said, tersely. “There is someone around here who is...”

“Terrified, hurting inside and desperate,” Tyria said with a shudder.

They were searching through an apparent pirate base, put together in a rather slap-dash manner from some old wooden cabins and pre-fab units and cargo containers, now clearly newly abandoned. They had suspected the place of also being a halfway station for slave trade, and the way it seemed to have been systematically, thoroughly cleaned of any evidence did suggest there was more going on than just a bunch of upstart pilots deciding they’d prefer quick money over legitimate employment.

But they must have left _someone_ behind. Somewhere in the maze of corridors, they must have overlooked one of their victims. The feeling permeating the now empty facility was one she was all too personally familiar with. That cold, helpless dread of having lost everything you had known.

They just had not found the person yet. They would. They _had to_.

“Sad,” Myrtle piped up.

“And broadcasting,” Boba added.

“Wait, _ye_ can tell?!” Shysa turned to him sharply.

Killian made a face.

“That’s probably on me,” he said sheepishly.

“Thanks for nothing, _vod_ ,” Boba said drily. “I could have done without reliving this.”

“Sorry,” Killian grimaced even more. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Think happy thoughts,” Myrtle snapped at them. “Both of you! Now! Think of Aslan!”

Tyria realised that both Kil and Boba were also personally acquainted with the experience of having your whole world snatched away from under your feet. And they were probably feedbacking through their bond.

Thinking of Aslan was not a bad solution for her, either, she was finding out. The memory of the utterly unmistakable _Light_ of Aslan's presence did wonders in dispersing her own insecurities, fears and traumas.

“... Okay, yes, good idea,” Kil said.

“I feel left out,” Shysa complained.

“Feel _lucky_ ,” Boba retorted.

For a couple moments, Tyria felt first a confusion as to why Boba might consider Shysa lucky to not have met Aslan; it quickly transformed into a pang of jealousy over Shysa’s luck concerning a lack of terrible memories to relive. And then she remembered he was one of only three survivors of a battle in the Clone Wars which had destroyed the Mandalorian Protectors of that time as surely as the Battle of Galidraan had previously destroyed Jango Fett’s True Mandalorians; and that he had lost his best friend, another of those three survivors, to the Empire; and she concluded that yes, Fenn should feel lucky he was not reliving those memories right now.

They were now in the wooden part of the building, clearly the oldest section. Planks were creaking under their feet and –

“What’s under us?” Boba asked.

“Rock, remember?” Myrtle said. “No, wait, you’re right, this doesn’t sound–”

And the floor gave way under them in a flip of see-sawing boards.

They tumbled down in a tangle of limbs, struck hard stone floor and landed in darkness, as the wooden ceiling above them slammed back into place.

So much for the Force providing warnings to Jedi Knights, Tyria reflected as her breath was nearly struck out of her.

“Oof, gerroff!” she pushed at someone in armour who had landed partially on top of her.

“My apologies.” The Mandalore scrambled off of her and then offered his arm in her general direction. “Are ye-?”

“Blue all over, I’m sure,” she grumbled, and added, for his sake since after all it wasn’t really his fault: “But all in one piece.” Relying on the Force to compensate for the lack of vision, she accepted the arm to draw herself up.

“I think something broke,” Shysa said. “Please tell me that wasn’t somebody’s bone.”

“Not mine,” Kil replied.

“Me neither,” Tyria assured.

“Oh, good, I’d hate to be responsible,” Fenn reacted.

“I’m fine,” Boba said, and a light came on from his helmet, illuminating both them and the place where they had ended up. Beyond the very fact of its existence, it wasn’t very remarkable: a sandstone cave, apparently natural in origin but later artificially enlarged, and even barer than the corridors above. “Where’s Myrtle?”

“Still above, I think,” Kil said.

“I’m here,” the Mole’s voice piped up from somewhere above their heads, and unhelpfully added:

“I can’t see you, but I sure can _hear_ you.”

“How did ye manage to stay up there, _ad’ika_?” Shysa asked.

“I’m not as heavy? And I managed a Force jump when the floor tried to drop me anyway? I think that’s what I did!”

“Well done,” Kil praised.

“Lion gracious, she’s gonna be one of _those_ Jedi,” Boba muttered. “Let’s get out of here again. Shysa, how’s your jetpack?”

“ _Osik_ ,” [8] Shysa swore as he tested it and came up with nothing more than coughs. “Shorting out. _That_ must have been what broke.”

“No, wait, let’s not...” Kil said urgently. “Can’t you feel it? It’s closer now.”

Tyria focused and had to agree with him. Whoever was broadcasting those feelings of despair had to be somewhere in these underground corridors.

“I can’t really...” Boba began, and stopped.

It was rather hard to tell with his helmet on, but Tyria could swear he was focusing intently.

So was Shysa.

“ _I_ can tell now,” he said with a shudder. “Who the kriff can...”

“Change of plan, we’re _finding_ them,” Boba said fiercely.

“Och, absolutely,” Shysa agreed.

“What about me?” Myrtle shouted.

“Stay right where you are, you’ll be marking the position of the trapdoor for us!” Kil shouted back.

“Okay.” Myrtle did not sound very pleased with the prospect, but did not protest.

“Which way?” Boba asked.

Tyria and Killian both wordlessly pointed in the direction from which they felt the tug of emotion.

“I’ll lead the way,” Tyria added, gathering her courage. She may feel like her skin was crawling with that old feeling of being small and helpless, but the person behind it was not at fault; quite the contrary, they needed help.

She focused on the mental image of Aslan, that memory of the Light of the Force, to stay on top of the mental space she needed to be in right now, and set off in the direction from whence the dark despair was coming.

Finally, in a dark corner of a cave –

Boba nearly lunged forward at the sight, pushing past Tyria, dropping to his knees in front of the tiny, sad shape with large eyes, large drooping ears, equally drooping antenna in the centre of its forehead, and fur mottled with who knew what filth.

It was a hoojib. A hoojib _kit_.

That definitely explained the mental projection.

“It’s all right,” Boba said, voice so thick with emotion it carried even through the helmet’s vocoder. “You’re safe now. You’re safe, _ad’ika_. We’ll protect you.”

He extended his hand to the hoojib, let him sniff at it, and then gently, so very gently scooped him up and let him rest against his chest. Then he lowered his head to him, forehead to forehead.

With a sudden click, the hoojib bit at something on Boba’s helmet, and the light went out.

“Wha-” Shysa exclaimed.

In the darkness in front of them, there were some scuffing noises.

“ _Buy’ce_[9] power’s out,” Boba said matter-of-factly, his voice now unaltered by the helmet.

Shysa turned on his own light.

Boba had not startled, had not let go of the hoojib, Tyria noted; and then she remembered that hoojibs were energy-feeders, and realised the little creature must have fed off of the power in Boba’s helmet, which the man was now holding in one hand while still cradling the hoojib in the crook of the other arm. Hoojibs were energy feeders, and Boba, quick-thinking as ever, had immediately realised...

“Kriff, look at you, you had to be _starved_ ,” he said quietly, summarising Tyria’s own thoughts.

“No source of power whatsoever around here...” Tyria said. “Oh, you poor thing!”

Having fed, the hoojib looked slightly better now. Slightly.

“What’s your name?” Kil asked, quite sensibly since they certainly ought not to refer to the child just as “him” or “hoojib”, and it was a good, safe conversation starter.

 _Prill_ , echoed in their minds, quietly, uncertainly, shyly. _My name is Prill._

“How long have ye been here? What happened to your folks?” Shysa asked. “Where are ye from? We could take ye back.”

That was Mandalorian bluntness at work. So much for safe conversation topics.

Prill wailed out loud.

_Gone. All gone. All gone._

“Shhh... shhh,” Boba whispered.

_All gone! All dead!_

The wailing did not stop. Could hardly have stopped.

“Prill...” Boba said, sounding helpless.

“You’re safe with us,” Killian said, sounding equally helpless.

“Let’s get out of this miserable place,” Tyria said, decisively.

They hurried back through the tunnels, Killian leading the way now, using his teacher-student bond with Myrtledove as a beacon to guide him, until they reached the place where they had fallen down.

Shysa turned off the light. There was now far more light pouring in through a large hole in the ceiling, the welcome sight of Myrtle’s pointy pink-and-black snout peeking through.

“I practised my telekinesis to kill the time,” she informed them gleefully, peering down at them.

“Well done, and thank you,” Killian said.

“Oh, you found them! Hi!” The Mole apprentice waved at Prill. “I’m Myrtledove.”

“This is Prill,” Boba said.

Prill just stared.

“So, I guess I should step back now you’re getting up here, shouldn’t I?” Myrtle said, and suited action to words.

“Hold my _buy’ce_ and hold on tight,” Boba told Shysa, handing his helmet over to him and then wrapping his free arm around the Mandalore’s torso.

“Wait, what about...”

“Don’t worry about us,” Killian said.

“Jedi, remember?” Tyria added.

The jetpack engaged with a hiss that transformed into the continuous roar of burning fuel, and the trio took off into the air.

“After you,” Killian said when the Mandalorians with Prill landed safely.

“Ah, I’ve been missing your Narnian chivalry, Sir Killian,” Tyria grinned at him, and drawing on her hard-earned Force skills, she jumped up and caught the edge of the opening.

Her Force skills were still a bit sub-par. She nearly slipped again, but strong arms in vambraces caught her; Shysa, ever the chivalrous man, even without Narnian experience and knighthood, pulled her to safety.

Kil landed smoothly right beside her, which was a good thing because Boba still had his arms full of orphaned hoojib and powered-down _buy’ce_.

The journey back to Shysa’s ship was much faster than it had taken them the first time around on the way in, now that they no longer bothered searching for anything.

“I have half a mind to pound this whole place to the ground,” Shysa said along the way.

“Do,” Boba replied darkly.

“ _’Lek._ ” [10]

Neither of the Jedi objected.

They all poured into the cockpit of Shysa's Kom'rk-class ship. Shysa removed his helmet as if glad to be breathing freely of familiar air, taking the pilot’s seat. Tyria settled in as co-pilot. They took off quickly - Tyria managed to spare a thought to how well the thing was responding for being a Clone Wars-era antique, older than most New Republic ships. Despite the fact it was the New Republic that was known for looking back to the past, the Mandalorians actually often had them beat in that regard. The Mandalore must have had more recent work done on the ship, just like Boba was keeping the even older _Slave I_ in top-notch working order.

Shysa kept to his word and sent a volley of explosive parting gifts to the ground below. The facility collapsed into the tunnels underneath it. If anyone wanted to establish another slaving station on that moon, they’d have to start from the very beginning.

It was a cold comfort. They were all glad to enter hyperspace, tense silence hanging between them.

“Uncle, what did you mean, ‘one of those Jedi’?” Myrtle suddenly asked accusingly, breaking that tension.

Boba sighed.

“The sort that jumps and flips and throws things all over the place,” he said. “I have bad experiences, okay? I kinda forgot that Corran is more of an exception than a rule for what a Jedi does. Don’t know why Kil takes after him normally.”

Kil snorted.

“I’d managed for years without relying on fancy acrobatics and telekinesis. I see no point in starting now unless absolutely necessary.”

“... like right now,” Shysa grinned.

“But you would not have fallen down!” Myrtle exclaimed.

“And we would not have found Prill,” Killian pointed out.

Prill, still clearly very shy of the rest of them, now looked perfectly content where he was settled in the crook of Boba’s arm. Tyria could not help thinking that in Prill’s mind, Boba was the person who had fed him after who knew how long a period of starvation.

Boba, for his own part, looked slightly dazed.

“You’ll make a fine _buir_ ,” [11] Shysa told him suddenly, with a wry smile.

“What?” Boba said.

Shysa did not explain, only nodded in Prill’s direction.

“I’m not...”

Boba stopped, and looked down at Prill, and once again looked helpless.

“Prill?” he said, uncertainly.

The little hoojib was looking up at him with such clear adoration in his eyes it was no wonder Boba looked helpless in the face of it. Tyria felt helpless, and she was not the one facing it.

“Prill, how would you like Myrtle as a cousin?” Boba said.

“Not what ye need to be askin’!”

“How would you like a big lunk like me as your father?” Boba asked quietly.

* * *

It was not every day the Mand’alor called for you personally, so of course Sabine went. Landing in Keldabe, she then took her speeder bike to the Vasur-Beviin farm.

She parked her bike next to a rather beaten but carefully maintained one she knew belonged to Goran Beviin. On the other side of it was the newer full speeder model that was Boba Fett’s, and beyond that, the bigger hoversled that Medrit Vasur used to haul cargo to and from the farm.

Prill was enthroned in his father’s speeder and watched, in utter fascination, while Medrit was repairing a fence. It was not a job a hoojib was suited for, but Sabine had no doubt that the moment some more suitable task presented itself, Prill would be at it with a vengeance; hoojib or not, he was a Fett through and through, and with a Fett, things got _done_.

“Su’cuy!” Sabine greeted them.

“Su’cuy, Sabine!” Medrit replied. “The Alor’s in the karyai.” [12]

She nodded her thanks at him, and walked into the house.

The central room at the farm was not too large; while the prospering establishment was quite sprawling, the house in itself had never been intended for a large family. It mostly contained things speaking of the actual owners: holos of the couple and their families, the furniture was theirs... The holo of Fenn Shysa at the wall facing the main entrance was probably also theirs. Although Fett had certainly proven his own respect for Te Cabur Mand’alor [13] in the last years of Shysa’s life when he had worked for him on the jobs none of Shysa’s warrior veterans of the freedom fights – except for Sabine – had been overly eager to take. The only things Sabine knew for sure belonged to the Fetts were the two patchwork quilts rolled up and stored at the side of the room.

Boba Fett himself was standing at the com station’s larger holoprojector right now. He had his head bowed in thought when she entered, and looked up at the sound of the door and her steps.

“Su’cuy, Wren,” he greeted her.

“Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor,” she greeted more formally, fisting her chest and bowing her head. He waved it away with a slight smile.

“Let’s hope word of your arrival does not reach Lord Aran’s ears before we make clear what you’re here for. I’d hate them to think it was for a new _beskar’gam_ paint job.”

Sabine blinked in surprise.

“Did they really ask you to do that?”

That, then, had to be the newest battlefield in the so-called War of Prestige, and a particularly ridiculous one it was. No Mando’ad with any sense and respect for tradition should mind the Mand’alor’s chipped beskar’gam paint – sure, it stood out next to immaculately put-together foreign diplomats when such situations arose, but inside Mandalorian tradition, it was definitely part of what made Fett a mandokarla leader (loath as many still were to admit he was). Sabine herself might experiment with new paint jobs all the time, but that was who she was: an artist. Fett was a _warrior_ ; even if that was far from the only thing he was.

And, well, it was what made Fett recognisably _Fett_ ; the whole galaxy knew who he was, and that was one of the best assurances that both his and Mandalore’s word would be heeded.

The Mand’alor’s mouth quirked again.

“They did. They expressed the opinion that my paint job did not reflect the values the Mand’alor should represent.”

Sabine gaped. That argument made it _worse_. It made it skirting dangerously close to an insult.

Especially because she could not think how anyone with any ounce of good Mandalorian sense could raise any objections to the colours – _duty_ , _honouring a parent_ (who, after all, had also been Mand’alor), _energy_ , _justice_ and _new start_.

“It was one of the easiest ones to refute, too,” he grinned, and pointed behind himself at the holo of Fenn Shysa.

Who, Sabine realised as she burst out laughing, had sported a paint job almost identical to Fett’s. The main and by and by the only differences were the sigils and writing – the lines in Mando’a and Basic on Fett’s right vambrace informing of his severe allergy to an Arkanian ant (Fenn Shysa himself, with his medical experience earned hard in the freedom fights, had insisted Fett make it known, since Boba himself would probably otherwise never want to advertise a weakness like that); the Clan Fett of House of Mereel _aliik_[14]; and the white representation of a stone table _, Choruk’la Kajir,_ broken in half, on his right pauldron.

Sabine had yet to hear an explanation for why it was broken, but in a sense the white colour spoke for itself.

She shook her head incredulously.

“What were they fishing for, then?”

“Beats me. Something akin to Mandalore the Indomitable who was ultimately _beaten_ , perhaps; or Mandalore the Ultimate who allowed my illustrious ancestor to nuke several entire planets and who nearly _remained_ the ultimate.”

Boba Fett definitely did have a wicked and not exactly easily accessible sense of humour.

He also, she knew, believed that brain power was always better than excessive force, which went a long way towards explaining why he did not have a very high opinion of some of the legends of Mandalorian history. From what she knew of that history, that brain power may well have been something he had in common with his _illustrious ancestor_[15]; the methods definitely weren’t.

“Phew. Don’t let them hear you say _any_ of that.”

He only raised an eloquent eyebrow at her; it said _Do you really think I am that stupid?_

“So what would you have me do if not a paint job?” Sabine asked.

“Well, it _is_ a paint job. Just not a _beskar’gam_ paint job. How would you feel about working on some murals?”

“Normal or special?” she grinned.

“Normal. I’d rather this did _not_ blow up.”

He brought up a building plan on the holoprojector. A building of a grand design not common in Keldabe, clearly intended to impress.

“They have indicated several times that it’s been twenty years after the fall of the Empire and a certain amount of public funds could be made available for a suitably representative building,” he said, his tone very dry.

“Don’t tell me you caved in on the residence!” Sabine exclaimed in surprise.

That was another of the battlefields in the War of Prestige: the argument that the Mand’alor should have a more representative residence than an ori’ramikad’s farm.

It had, so far, gone down about as well as all the other arguments. From what Sabine had heard, Fett had apparently argued that considering the options of living in a palace that had stood bombed-out for years if not decades (and would have to be rebuilt with public funds because it would, after all, be the residence of a public official and not a private one), and a prospering farm with a metal-smith at hand, he knew _exactly_ where he wanted to raise his son. Which, of course, was an argument that would shut up every Mando’ad who wasn’t stupid enough to have forgotten the Resol’nare [16]. And even those certain heads of Houses were not _that_ stupid; they just kept barking up the wrong tree.

They felt a strong centralised government alike to those on other worlds would lend the Mandalore sector an appearance of power before the rest of the galaxy. Fett argued that the attempts at such centralised government had been exactly what had allowed Mandalore to be toppled, and that the intentional lack of it was precisely what had previously allowed the Mando’ade to survive for millenia. He was not wrong. It just kept throwing some people for a loop because they had staked their agendas on the idea that, raised away from Mandalore as he was, he was different from Shysa.

He _was_ different. He had none of Shysa’s easy energy, always feeling like a coiled wire ready to spring. But then, that certainly did not mean they could predict him; no one had expected that the main way in which he would differ from Shysa would be that he would _adopt a child_. Even though perhaps they should have gotten their hints from the existence of his adopted Jedi niece.

For all that Fett seemed to dislike politicians, he definitely could run circles around them; which made the thought that he may have given in after all quite surprising.

But Fett only snorted at her surprise.

“Not residential,” he pointed to the Keldabe town planning code in the corner of the file. “No, it’s a library.”

“Library!”

“And museum. Gallery. Music hall. A place to hold meetings. Whatever else it needs to be.”

Sabine eyed the plans more closely, and started seeing all those potential purposes in them, and whistled in appreciation.

It had a large domed central structure, surrounded with six sprawling wings in something of a star pattern, and it extended underground into what had to be environment-controlled storage rooms. It had almost a _Naboo_ quality to it in the way it proposed to blend into the environment and triumph over it; but at the same time, those qualities were also pure Mandalore, and the basic shape was, of course, modelled after a traditional Mandalorian house, with the central dome standing in for a karyai and the wings like the rooms radiating from one. Nor was it an accident that there were six of them; could each perhaps be decorated with a mural depicting one of the Resol’nare? The storage rooms, she noted, were not only environment-controlled but also _armoured;_ should anyone choose to bombard Keldabe, whatever was in the vaults would survive. The _colours,_ though seemingly also rather Naboo, were pure Mandalore to those who knew what to look for, with teal for endurance and maroon for remembrance. And just enough white for new beginnings to suggest the purpose was not just to preserve the past, but to build a future.

It was the future of Mandalore, and she liked it very much.

“You’re one of the people who know Shysa started collecting back books and artefacts. But it’s still all in insufficient temporary housings,” the Mand’alor said. “We’ll still need to sort through it and see if anything was overlooked and should go back to the aliite; but there are also _old_ things that don’t belong to anyone, that belong to all Mando’ade. And they _should_. It’s our history, our culture. And it’s also a bit depressing that when aruetiise [17] come to Keldabe, they’re _still_ seeing mostly spaceports and a world recovering.”

“From a lot more than just the Empire,” Sabine said thoughtfully. “So this really is the extent of what Shysa had you doing, then? Finding and collecting these things? People don’t believe me that he’d engaged _Boba Fett_ only on something so innocuous.”

“Some people were not so willing to part with their collections without some persuasion,” he shrugged.

“Tell me about it. It was easily one of the hardest things I ever had to do; and I fought with the Rebel Alliance before it was the Rebel Alliance.”

“Some of the ori’ramikade unfortunately also have very limited worldviews. Here’s hoping this helps amend that situation. Anyway, as I said, it’s also a gallery, not just a museum – it should not be limited to old things.”

“Now _that_ is representative,” she said appreciatively.

“And not at all what they had in mind.”

He was smirking. He was _definitely_ enjoying pulling something like this over the more stuffy heads of Houses.

Not just for himself. For the Mando’ade. For the future of Mandalore.

For a Manda’yaim Prill could be proud of. Maybe, he surely had to be hoping, a Manda’yaim Ailyn and little Mirta could be proud of. Sabine knew his relationship with his biological family was still rather strained, but Ailyn had grudgingly admitted to her that the Boba Fett who had become Mand’alor was a far more responsible, even-keeled and _caring_ individual than the neglectful husband and hateful bounty hunter whom she’d built up in her mind, and that, to her own surprise, she was considering that Boba’s current family situation and surprisingly high number of good friends might be able to provide the stability for Mirta her own failed relationship and bounty hunting job never could.

Sabine was hoping, for all their sakes, that it really would all work out.

He was doing it for a Manda’yaim that every Mando’ad could be happy returning to. A Manda’yaim that would really live up to its name.

Kriff, how did so many still not see it?

“This will be fun,” she grinned at him. “ _Ke’soleta ti ni, mand’alor._ ” [18]

“Good,” he said. “Because I have other ideas.”

She finally left the farm several hours later, her head reeling with the possibilities he had put in there. Murals. Book illustrations. _They have a travelling library system I’ve been itching to transplant over here; it should work nicely for the Mandalorian diaspora._

She absentmindedly waved to Medrit and Prill, both of whom were now working on some wiring, and drove off. She was barely able to watch where she was going, so deep in thought she was.

The future was even brighter than it had seemed under Shysa; although Fenn had obviously been planning on it before his passing. And Fett had picked up on those plans and made them _even better_.

She chuckled to herself. Yes, and it should definitely help make the more pompous heads of Houses and some of the more strictly traditionalist warriors think harder on what did a good leader make.

* * *

Excerpt from the book _The Queen Aravis Librarians: A New Look at Mandalore the Merciful’s Influences and Legacy_

_When Boba Fett ascended to the title of Mandalore, he had big shoes to fill. His predecessor, Fenn Shysa, who freed the Mandaloroian Sector from the thrall of Palpatine’s Empire, was a beloved and humble leader. Fett’s more volatile personality, as well as his less hands-on approach and long-term distance from his father’s culture, initially made him a less popular choice, and only the fact he had been chosen by Shysa himself secured him the title. But Shysa’s choice of successor ultimately proved just as inspired as the rest of his decisions as Mandalore. All Mandalorian histories now agree that in the person of Boba Fett, the several conflicting strands of Mandalorian culture were uniquely unified, and his increased reliance on the independent, democratically elected leadership of clans, as well as his off-world activities, allowed Mandalorian culture to flourish and once again emerge as a major force in the galaxy. Where Shysa held Mandalorians together in hard times, Fett managed to give them a sense of purpose for times of peace. This has eventually led to the era of both Shysa’s and Fett’s tenure as the Mandalore being dubbed the Golden Age of Mandalore. (1)_

_It could be said simply that Fett continued Shysa’s policies and took them off-world, although that is certainly a simplified way of looking at things. What is certain is that he managed to reconcile the more warrior-like philosophies of the Mandalorian supercommandos, Mandalorian Protectors and the various surviving, rebranded remnants of Death Watch with the peaceful aspirations of New Mandalorians – transformed to righteous anger by the Empire’s crimes, but still surviving. Fett achieved this feat by turning both the planet Mandalore and the Mandalorian culture as a whole into one of the galaxy’s safe havens, and maintaining the Mandalorian sense of purpose and unity as a culture based more on ideals rather than delineated simply along cosmographic or ethnic lines. Among Fett’s Mandalorians, each person, regardless of whether they were a warrior or not, and regardless of where in the galaxy they resided, could play a vital role in the Mando’ad. The Mandalorian sector was still its centre, but instead of the attempts at centralised – and easily toppled – governments of the pre-Empire days, Fett once again made sure each clan and each individual could carry on the culture even if others fell._

_The well-known Stone Table Project became an integral part of these efforts, but at the same time an integral part of the Mandalore’s dealings with outsiders. The integration of its mission into Mandalorian culture was, in a sense, summed up in the Supercommando and Protector Codex with the addition of the tenet “Ke’gaanyni laam, nu daab.” – “Punch up, not down.”_

_In 15 ABY, during a mission to the Unknown Regions that resulted in the final demise of the Dark Lady Lumiya, an unlikely alliance was formed between the New Jedi Order, among others Grand Master Luke Skywalker and Knight Killian Kenix, several New Republic personages, and the Mandalorians, in the person of then-bounty hunter and future Mandalore Boba Fett. In circumstances that until recently remained shrouded in mystery, Fett set aside his old feud with the Jedi Order in the pursuit of the greater good. Kenix and Fett in particular struck a close friendship and partnership that would last for the rest of their lives._

_In the following years, they built a network of allies throughout the galaxy that aided escaped and freed slaves and other individuals in reclaiming their old lives or starting new ones, and performed many missions against clandestine slaving, cloning and bio-engineering rings. (It was these humanitarian efforts that eventually earned Fett his epithet, so in contrast with his previous reputation as a ruthless bounty hunter. (2) ) This largely politically independent undertaking in the cause of freedom and equal rights for all sentients came to be known as Te Choruk’la’kajir Aka, or The Stone Table Project. (3) It also became a major voice in the advocacy for droid rights, with the protocol droid Squeaky, the R2 units known as Deefore, Whistler and Gate, and the Jedi Knight Myrtledove at the forefront of that particular struggle. (4)_

_Although the Stone Table Project never became a purely political player, being more akin to an international non-governmental organisation and focusing on solving individual problems as they arose rather than attaining political power for its own sake, in the following decades it proved to be a significant stabilising force in the galaxy. Both Knight Kenix and Mandalore the Merciful had previous ties to various galactic factions and influential individuals from their work as bounty hunters and mercenaries. The Project’s leading figures (including also Baroness Feena D’Asta from the Imperial Remnant) and their activities, while angering smaller factions bent on subjecting others, on the whole managed to generate goodwill in many places of the galaxy. The Project crossed political boundaries and in many cases aided in forming alliances between former enemies and political rivals._

_It also seems to have served as something of an intelligence network; some sources suggest ties to Talon Karrde’s organisation through Jedi Knight Mara Jade; others hint at links to New Republic Intelligence through Iella Wessiri Antilles and Garrik Loran, and the Imperial Intelligence through the D’Astan agent Tav Kennede._

_These unifying links no doubt led to speedier reactions to and resolutions of various crises than might have been the case in the splintered post-Palpatine galaxy otherwise. They also possibly managed to circumvent other, more forceful and potentially ruinous attempts at unifying the galaxy under one government._

_However, one side of the Project’s scope of activities that has so far, in works on the history of this era, been treated as at the most an interesting footnote, is their educational and literacy project. Most historians, if they discuss this aspect of the Project at all, take the view that the Queen Aravis Librarians simply served as a convenient front for Te Aka’s more politically explosive activities. This interpretation entirely overlooks the significant role the mobile libraries and travelling storytellers played in the furthering of education among settler families in remote areas of Outer Rim or Unknown Regions planets like Tatooine or Ardis, and among orphans all throughout the galaxy. The fact that the project was, among others, headed by the respected Jedi Historian Tionne Solusar also serves as a reminder that its educational value should not be underestimated._

_This disregard for the Queen Aravis Librarians is all the more puzzling in light of the great importance Mandalore the Merciful clearly laid on them himself, and the importance Mandalorian culture as such lays on the rearing of children. Fett tirelessly campaigned for the project’s funding and on many occasions poured his own earnings (by that point of his life greatly reduced by the demands of his title) into it. For the rest of his life, he maintained that he wished children in isolated outposts to receive better education than he had, and that, having been orphaned at a young age himself, he was trying to make the lives of other orphans brighter by bringing them both knowledge and entertainment._

_This book therefore aims to look closer at the hitherto overlooked influences that formed the bounty hunter Boba Fett into the man we now know as Te Din’irud’yc Mand’alor. It attempts to examine the history and activities of the Queen Aravis Librarians and re-assess their significance in the furthering of both education and freedom of thought in the galaxy._

_The name itself has been something of a mystery, as there were no Queens in the history of Mandalore (many significant female leaders notwithstanding). However, the recent rediscovery of Knight Myrtledove’s holocron sheds light not only on the aforementioned mission in 15 ABY, but also on the identity of Queen Aravis and the reason why her name was chosen to represent the mobile libraries of the Stone Table Project._

_(...)_

_(1) It must be noted that “Golden Age” is a very poor rendering of the original Mando’a term “Mandokarla Mand’alore Ca’nara”, which specifically refers to the fact Fenn Shysa and Boba Fett had what it takes to be an exemplary Mando’ad – far less a term of nostalgic romanticism and far more an example to follow._

_(2) Some of the apparent disconnect stems from the fact there are two words in Mando’a habitually translated as “merciful” in Basic. “N’a’denn”, the negative of the somewhat archaic “a’denn”, merciless in battle, refers primarily to mercy in the sense of staying one’s hand. As a negative it has some passive connotations in the language, and would be less likely to be applied to a mandokarla individual such as Boba Fett (although his friendship with the New Jedi Order after his blood feud with the Old would certainly justify its use in connection to him). “Din’irudyc”, on the other hand, refers to an individual who “gives their arm”, extending an arm in support. Originally this word most often referred to individuals offering support and defense to wounded on a battlefield, and is thus viewed as an active trait of bravery. This connotation of a conscious pursuit of mercy and providing help at cost to one’s own safety is entirely lost in the umbrella Basic term._

_(3) A more precise translation is “The Stone Table Mission”; the Mandalorian concept of mission, described in detail in Baobab (554), goes a long way towards explaining Te Choruk’la’kajir Aka’s conspicuously ad-hoc, non-political structure. “Table”- “kajir” has some connotations of equality in Mando’a. While the Project itself – at least under its full name – eventually petered out over time, it left an indellible mark on Mandalorian culture in the concept of kajirla’ka, social justice, literally translating to “table mission”. To this day, social justice for Mandalorians is not a matter of policy or ideology, but of personal, active, situational responsibility – a Mando’ad acting in the interest of social justice is simply obeying the last command of the Resol’nare and fulfilling the mission of one of the most mandokarla Mand’alors of their history._

_(4) Under Te Din’irudyc Mand’alor’s successor Mirta Gev, it was Knight Myrtledove, together with Te Din’irudyc’s eldest adoptive son, the Hoojib Mandalorian Prill Fett, who oversaw most of the operations of the Project._

[1] Mando’a: “Hello, little child”, literally a shortened version of “you’re still alive”.

[2] “Hello, Lindendell, my sister (sibling).”

[3] The planet Mandalore. “Yaim” means “home” in Mando’a.

[4] Mando’a is a non-gendered language, to the point that familial relationships don’t appear to be differentiated by gender. (“Vod” also means “brother/sister” in the more metaphorical sense.)

[5] Supercommandos

[6] “White field” – the Mandalorian notion that your past does not matter once you become a Mandalorian and decide to follow the Resol’nare, the six tenets of traditional Mandalorian culture.

[7] A Mandalorian

[8] Mandalorian swearword which I understand begins with S in English

[9] Helmet

[10] “Yeah.” (Short for “elek”, “yes”.)

[11] Parent

[12] Alor: leader, here short for Mand’alor, sole leader. Karyai: The main, communal room in the traditional North Mandalorian house. Here’s hoping there is one at the farm – I’ve never read the respective books...

[13] “Mandalore the Protector”, a proposed title for Fenn Shysa I found in the work “Legends of Mandalore” here on AO3

[14] Sigil, symbol on armour

[15] That would be Cassus Fett, one of the generals of the Mandalorian Wars of old, who did indeed nuke entire planets.

[16] The six main tenets of traditional Mandalorian culture: “Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive.”

[17] Outsiders, not-Mandalorians

[18] “Count with me” – Count me in, you can count on me (my own construction, hopefully grammatically correct)

**Author's Note:**

> Mandalorian culture, re: touching foreheads: Since I haven't read the respective books, I'm reliant on Wookieepedia, which [seems to argue gentle headbutts were only performed between lovers.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Keldabe_kiss)  
> BUT young Boba Fett in Attack of the Clones very obviously performs [a hongi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hongi) with Jango Fett's helmet. So I'm going to argue it's less clear-cut than Wookieepedia / the books (I assume) would make it sound, and I'm happily going with the hongi-like interpretation in this AU because it suits my purposes.
> 
> Also... I've just realised Wookieepedia lists Jango's height as the same as Boba's, but Temuera Morrison is shorter in real life, and... I just had trouble picturing him as that tall, and subscribed to some fanon I came across somewhere (more places, I think) that the clones including Boba shot over him due to better nutrition / different lifestyle. *shrug*
> 
> ETA 14/09/2020: And of course I forgot the Note I especially wanted to include. :P Namely, re: the two made-up Mando'a words for "merciful": Yep, they are made-up. The dictionary at www.mandoa.org only has that word for "merciless in battle". I've seen some fans back-forming a negative from it, but I wasn't satisfied with that solution for my purposes because - that's not how languages and translations work. It's not a 1:1 translation of "mercy/merciful", and indeed in reality translation rarely works 1:1; so it made sense to me to make up another word.


End file.
